Hair Dye
by Photophobic
Summary: The villagers had always picked on him for having white hair.  Young Hitsugaya Toshiro tries to find a simple solution for this.


**Hair Dye**

…

Pink. Some saw it as a girly color. He saw it as the color that became of blood and water when mixed together. The water cupped in his hands was now turning that very color as a small droplet of crimson fell into it. He splashed the liquid on his face.

This section of the river was calm today, calm enough to act as a mirror for the young boy. He scowled at it and drove his hand through so as to disrupt the image. It came back all too quickly. The same white hair, the same teal eyes, the same freak of nature. Only this time, there were a few scrapes lining the skin on his cheek.

A simple tree branch had been the cause. It had been held in the hand of a boy little older than him who had been frightened by his appearance. All Toshiro had been doing was walking, but the boy suddenly started crying out "Demon!" and proceeded to grab the branch as a weapon. Hence the scratches and the pink water.

"Why can't I change this...?" he whispered to himself. He placed his hands in the frigid liquid and began washing away the stains from the forest. The green of grass, the dark smudges of berries, the brown of dirt.

Colors that weren't white.

And just like that, he had an idea. Toshiro sprinted to the wooded area and began to fill his hands with whatever he could find. A large flat rock was the last thing he gathered before returning with what he thought to be a bountiful sum. Placing his collection on the rock, he used his hands to mash everything together.

The rainbow began to fuse together into one solid color. He couldn't help the small smile from finding his face. Why didn't he think of this earlier? Giving the concoction one last stir, he scooped some up in his hand. It was dark.

The smile grew.

…

"It's getting late," Momo noticed. "Where's Shiro-chan?"

"He will be back soon enough," Granny assured.

Momo didn't seem so certain. "But what if he's in trouble? Or hurt? Granny, what if he's lost and injured and…?"

She was interrupted by the door opening.

"Shiro-chan!" Momo cried, sprinting to greet the boy she'd adopted as her younger brother. However, she stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing him. It wasn't the big grin that threw her off. It was the complete absence of white.

She knelt by him and frowned. "What did you do to your pretty white hair?"

It was a dark brownish, near black, but with a vibrant purple tint. The color was very flat and dull, but he seemed positively please with it.

"I colored it," he explained. "The others won't think I'm bad luck anymore if I don't have white hair."

Her nose caught a whiff of the strong smell. "What did you use?"

"It's a secret," he claimed. She placed a hand in it. The color came off in a gross mush.

"C'mon, let's go wash this out," she sighed, taking his hand.

"No!" He shook her off. "I want to keep it like this!"

"Hitsugaya Toshiro…"

"No one picked on me on the way back!" He was using erratic hand motions. "They didn't act like I was a curse or anything! Hinamori, I was _normal_."

She shook her head. "But that's not who you are, Shiro-chan." She showed him her hand. "See? The color is coming off."

He fell into a pout. "I don't want to wash it out."

"Child," Granny said. "Please, listen to your sister. She is right. The color hides the outside, but not the inside. You will be our special little Toshiro no matter what. You don't need to change for everyone else."

His eyes found the floor, intent on turning it to ice with his glare.

…

Hinamori couldn't stop giggling. "See, Shiro-chan, this is what you get for trying to change yourself."

A heavy redness found his face. At least it was nighttime. The two entered the small house again, the boy's arms tightly crossed.

"Oh, my," Granny commented upon seeing him. She had to stifle her laughter.

Oh, they'd gotten _most_ of the color out alright. Three washes and the thick brown had washed away in the stream. But was his hair white? No. Due to the "secret" formula of his concoction, he'd been left with one, faint remaining color.

Pink.

Now, it was no longer the color of blood and water. No, it was a girly, embarrassing color. Granny assured him it would fade out with time. For the moment, though, having pink hair was his punishment for trying to escape the white.

He wasn't sure which was worse.


End file.
